Self Medication
Crew Lounge - -------------------------------------------------------------------------- Describing the lounge as cozy would be generous--at eight and a half meters by six, it's fairly cramped. In the center of the room, eight chairs have beem stuffed around a table slightly too small for them. Food preparation equipment is placed up against the starboard wall, covered by locking panels. Two old couches sit side by side along the port wall. Hatches lead forward and aft to the forward corridor and the ladderwell. Three small crates are stacked over in a corner. Upon inspection, one contains kemenyanya, one contains keserunaran, and the third contains szarazvirag. -------------------------------------------------------------------------- It's a quiet afternoon in the crew lounge. Entirely too quiet, all things considered, but there might just be a reason: slumped over on one of the couches lies a heap of... well, skinny, glowing La Terran girl. That nice false aura is a muddy olive green, and she's less than alert at best. Kestrel's got her jacket over her, and is clinging to a surprisingly good bottle of scotch like it was a life preserver. Alastair comes walking from the ladderwell with that slight limp of his. He's not wearing his red jacket, just a shirt and pants that look like he threw them on just after crawling out of bed. Starting into the room, he stops and stares at Kestrel. Well, mostly he stares at the bottle of scotch. "Are you planning on drinking all of that?" Kestrel turns and squints over at Alastair, her motions slow and uncoordinated. "...Well, 'at all d'pends," she offers, her voice gravelly, but her tone more canny than one might expect from someone that's already flat drunk at just past noon. "Might not have need'a it if'n ya fix me up, so could be I might share a bit, 'ey?" She hitches herself up a bit, and winces. Alastair peers at the Later girl skeptically, using those telescopic eyes of his to get a good look without crossing the room. "And what exactly is wrong with you?" He demands with a bit of a smirk. "Hadda fight with a cargo crate in one-tenth gee," Kestrel slurs, then giggles, the results of which are actually somewhat interesting. Some purple tendrils make an appearance in her aura, but change rapidly to white as she holds one arm across her ribs. "...Crate won," she croaks. Cue a drink, straight from the bottle. Alastair rolls his eyes a bit at that description, and limps over towards the drunken girl on the couch. He swaps his cane to the other hand, then leans over to poke her lightly in the ribs. "Hmmm. Anything broken?" He asks, more to himself than to her. Kestrel gets a hand up in a haphazard swat at nothing in particular that just doesn't cut it as self-defense. "Ow," she growls. "I dunno. Ain't got none stickin' inta m'lungs, anyhows, so figured I didn't need ta wake ya." She giggles, bringing on a sharp intake of breath and another wince. "Don' think ya woulda come out anyhows, if'n what Bri says is true." "Yes, well." Alastair's mechanical fingers poke and prod a bit more while he diagnoses the extent of the damage. Then he frowns comically. "Wait... what did she say?" The only answer is a dark, short chuckle, more of a chuff, really. "...Sure you'd like ta know, but m'sworn ta... wossname." Kes pauses there, expression pensive. "Not ta tell," she finally decides on, nodding. She squints up at Alastair. "You ain't much'a a doc, Doc, ya ain't even made me take m'shirt off yet." Cue another giggle, another wince, and yes, another drink. "Oh really..." Alastair says slowly, with a suspicious expression on his face. He eyes her for a few seconds, then shrugs. "Fine." He says with a smirk. "Why don't you just go right ahead and take your shirt off then?" He straightens up and starts to reach for his jacket pocket before he realize he isn't wearing it. Kestrel just blinks at Alastair for a few long moments, by all appearances processing what he said. When it registers, she puts one hand to her mouth, stifling laughter into a series of snorts, intermittently punctuated with various utterances of 'ow' and 'ouch'. She's still got a deathgrip on that bottle of scotch with her free hand. Alastair pats down his pants pockets as well, and comes up empty. For once he doesn't seem to have any drugs on him. "Is something funny?" He asks, giving Kestrel a slight scowl. "Whole 'Kari-cursed universe's funny," Kes replies, still trying her damnedest not to laugh, though that persistent false aura gives her away, shifting to a rather nasty sort of purple -- like a bruise. "Specially when I got me some'a 'is stuff." She grins. "Stole it, y'know. Everyone knows liquor whatcha stole tastes better." She nods slowly at that, as if uttering some profound truth or other. "I'll bet it does." Alastair gives the Later a cynical smirk. "Well, how's this for funny?" He asks in a tone thick with irony. "I'd normally give you some painkillers for what's probably just a bruised rib." He tries to look sympathetic but just ends up looking like he's about to laugh. "But as drunk as you are, mixing in any medications is not a good idea. Especially for a skinny twig like you." He smirks some more, and shakes his head. "Just as well because I don't have any with me. You'll have to wait until you sober up." Kestrel blinks blearily up at Alastair, then shrugs and smiles good-naturedly. "Guess I need 'is, 'en," she says, waving the bottle just out of reach. "So I guess I ain't sharin'." If she's joking, she's covering it up really -really- well. "Scotch's as good a painkiller as anythin', 'ey?" She winks. "Specially good scotch." Cue a short pause, during which she drinks yet again. "...An' by Newm's guns, it -is- pretty 'Kari-cursed funny, thinkin' onnit." "Oh, it's hilarious." Alastair agrees with an expression that's not really amused at all. "May as well drink until you pass out, and then sleep it off." He gives a patronizing smirk. "Then I can steal your stolen booze while you're unconscious, and get you some painkillers - maybe a little extra for the hangover you'll have." "...Psh. Hangover's easy. Jest start drinkin' 'gain," Kes replies, then pauses, seemingly having to mull something over again. "...Ohhhhh, yer sneaky, Doc Hall, stealin' m'hangover cure 'fore I kin even use it. But now 'atcha told me, ain't gonna happen, no sir." She snickers, ending in another wince, but she's amused nonetheless. "Wouldja be less grouchy if'n you was drunk too?" She pauses before she answers herself, "...Naw, prob'ly not." "There's only one way to find out for sure, isn't there?" Alastair replies sarcastically. "And since you're keeping the alcohol all to yourself, I guess you'll just have to live with never knowing." He gives an emphatic nod, and smirks. Kestrel squints up at Alastair, again with that oddly canny expression. "But if'n I hand it over to ya, you'll keep it," she replies warily. "'Sides, you got cooties, cause yer Sivadian." Cue more stifled laughter, punctuated with more pained comments. Mostly 'ow'. "...Find yerself a glass, Doc Hall, solves both problems all at once." The Later is on one of the couches, with Alastair standing nearby. The hatch cycles at the ladderwell and Plumpaw stumbles through in the ruffled and bleary state only cound in cats that have /just/ woken up. The fur on one side of her body is still crimped and cowlicked. Sniff, sniff...the Demarian angles her mediocre progress towards the crates in the corner. "Oh, /I've/ got cooties." Alastair growls, not seeming to notice Plumpaw slinking in. Limps over to grab himself a glass, and then back. "From what I hear, you're the one that was running around trying touch people so they'd get infected. If I'm not mistaken that would make you the one who has cooties, now wouldn't it." Alastair is, coincidentally, not glowing. Kestrel still is. "...What? I was playin' glow tag," Kes replies, shrugging a bit. The false aura goes back to that muddy olive green. "Doc Slypaw said it was harmless, so I figgered it might be fun if'n -everyone- was glowin'." She snickers at that, unsteadily pouring the glass about half-full of scotch. It doesn't seem to have registered that Alastair isn't glowing. Actually, it doesn't seem to have registered that Plumpaw came in, either. Plum doesn't seem to have registered anything, yet. She roots around in one of the crates and extracts one of the sweet red petals with the expression of archaeologist vs. idol before she notices anything. Then, she narrows one green eye at Alastair, her considerably fainter aura flickering curiously. "Waitaminnit," she grumbles. "You aren't glowing." "Glow tag." Alastair seemingly can't help but smirk at that as he takes the glass of scotch and drinks up. Plumpaw finally gets his attention as she speaks up, and he glances over at her with his eyes narrowed slightly. "...yes I am?" He tries, seeing if she'll buy it. Kestrel snorts. "No y'ain't," she replies, leaning uncomfortably close to scrutinize Alastair's hand intently. The motion is accompanied by a grunt of pain, then a pulse of rather disgusting, mucky orange through her own aura. She sits back and takes another drink, then looks up at him muzzily. "...Knew somethin' was off with ya. 'Sides th'normal stuff, I mean." "Busted," Plumpaw announces triumphantly. It might have been more effective if she didn't croak it. She chews on a piece of the petal thoughtfully. "How'dya do it?" Alastair grimaces at the irritation, and takes another gulp of Scotch. He limps a few steps over to the couches and flops down himself. "I guess it just didn't stick." He states in a very serious tone. "Maybe it wears off faster on some people than on others. I can't really explain it." "...Guess yer stuck on 'is li'l bitty ship with us till it wears off 'en," Kes says, shrugging noncommittally. "Suits me jest fine, means ya ain't doin' all kinda crazy 'speriments on people. Y'know, th'sort what end up makin' everyone glow." She snickers at that, and grins goofily over at Plumpaw. "Whassup, Plummy?" "Gurhg, I'm tired of bein' stuck here." Plumpaw decrees and flops on the other couch, still nibbling at her petal. "Hows you?" "Yes, what a terrible fate." Alastair agrees with a somber tone. "I'm stuck on this tiny ship with all of you... and the hot redhead that's staying in my cabin. Whatever will I do." He holds his glass over to Kestrel as if expecting a refill. "Anyway. You seemed to enjoy yourself, glow-tag girl." "Drunk!" the Later proclaims cheerfully, hoisting the bottle of scotch up over her head. Something about the motion elicits a wince and the hiss of an indrawn breath from Kestrel. It's hard to tell if it's because she hurt herself, or because she sloshed some of the liquor in her hair. "Didja know th'cargo bay gravity kin be turned down ta one-tenth gee?" she asks then, her head tilting at the Demarian. A sidewise glance goes to Alastair. "Psh. I think yer h'lucinatin' 'er too, ain't seen no redhead 'round 'ere." "Nah, there's a redhead." The Demarian crinkles her nosebridge and stuffs the last of her breakfast in to her mouth. "One-tenth gee, yesay?" Plum seems more interested by that, ears actually perking up. She starts smooth out the fur on her arm with her fingertips. Alastair smirks in amusement at that. "Yes." He says mildly. "You said that had something to do with how you banged up your ribs, which is why you're lying here drinking yourself into a stupor." He holds out the glass again, insistently. Kestrel blinks at Plumpaw. "...'Ere is? Is she hot like 'e says?" She pauses there, her expression comically thoughtful. "...Is she in 'ere by -choice- 'r does 'e keep 'er tied up?" she demands incredulously. "Can't think'a why anyone'd wanna stay inna cabin with Doc Hall 'ere." She blinks at the glass as if confused before she refills it shakily, then looks to the Demarian again. "Yup. I kin bounce offa walls like crazy, tell ya what. Was fun till I slammed inta a crate." "Dunno, but from the smell of things she never lets him go." Plum answers most sagely. "Sweet. I wanna go bounce offa walls!" "Oh, I could give a few good reasons." Alastair smiles in mock innocence. "But I've never tied her up..." For some unfathomable reason he gets a thoughtful look on his face. "...anyway. Maybe you should watch out for the crates next time." "...Gimpy ol' Doc Hall's gotta girrrrrrulfriend," Kes slurs, snickering into one hand. For some reason, this is -incredibly- funny to her. "Poor thang. She'll prob'ly be bored stiff inside a week. Prob'ly go sleep with... I dunno, Bri's daddy instead." Cue more laughter, and finally, the Later hugs an arm around her ribs. "...Ow. Say, Plummy, if'n ya wanna bounce, I kin go watch. Can't bounce though, not till I hurt less." Plumpaw snickers and smooths out the fur on her leg with a sweep of her palm. "Aw c'mon. Dat's mean," Plum grins at Kes and climbs off the couch. Alastair glares levelly at Kestrel. "Oh, I can think of a few things to ward off boredom." His face is carefully neutral. "I'm quite imaginative, after all." He then gives Plumpaw a slight smirk. "Just you don't go crashing into things and hurting yourself, too." Kestrel blinks. "'E's a grouchyface, so I thought mebbie I'd be grouchy back. But mebbies yer right, oughta be better'n 'at." She looks over at Alastair and offers, "Sorry." It's sincere, if not exactly sober by any definition of the word. With that, the Later starts struggling to get up from the couch. It's really -not- an easy thing to do while drunk, clutching a bottle of scotch by the neck, and holding one's ribs. Plumpaw chuckles. "He's a grouchy face wif' the meds. Be nice," Plum answers, sliding off the couch and rolling to her paws. Towards the cargo hold! "C'mon, Doc! I'm gonna try not to get broken, but you know how gravity is when she's not there." The Demarian goads, instantly in a better mood. Her glow returns to a healthy, faint orange at that, palming the hatch open with her tail aswish. Alastair has a slight smirk for Plumpaw. "Yes. It's likely that you'll end up crippled or maimed in some fashion." With a serious look on his face he climbs to his feet. "So I may as well come down there." He says mildly. "Just to be on hand to reattach your limbs." The Later finally manages to haul herself to her feet, mostly by not holding her ribs. Give up the death grip on the bottle of scotch? Never! Kes totters unsteadily, then staggers toward the cargo bay after the Demarian. Category: Comorro Station Arrival